


Dear Santa

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Christmas, F/F, Fantasy, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Long Shot, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: Mickey hates all things Christmas and holiday but he does love his son. Even though he's trying his best, there's a difference between love and loving. Just like there's a difference between seeing and believing. It takes a letter, a crazy experience and the man in red to teach Mickey that.And also bells.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Now formatted for your reading pleasure :D

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

_“And that request was sent in by no one because Mickey don’t take no requests. If you’re like me and you’re gonna go homicidal if you hear another sleigh bells ring or silent night, this is the station for you, 97.2 Chicago’s number one hit station for all things rock and no things Christmas, at least for the next six minutes. Gonna hit you with some Aerosmith and a little Metallica to close out before Dan takes over and runs this whole operation into the ground. Did you hear that Dave? Enough with the sappy calls. However, he does have your next few chances to win tickets to see Red Hot Chili Peppers next year, so make sure you stay locked right here. Speaking of locked, I got your weather and traffic update then we’re back to the tunes. If you’re outside right now, pat yourself on the back for being a dummy. Weather’s crap, roads are crap, there’s backups all over the city as long as these snow piles are wide. I warned you and I’m warning you again: If you’re thinking of leaving your house for anything but booze, DON’T. And without further ado, 97.2, I’m Mickey saying Merry whatever to all and to all I’m getting the hell out of here!”_

Mickey hits two buttons at once on his board and Aerosmith’s Dream On begins to fill his box. He throws his headphones off and chugs the rest of his bottle of water, before reaching for the last of his cold coffee and finishing that off too. The song plays on as he stands up and stretches like a bear coming out of hibernation. He’s tired after working all week and dealing with his son, but add in the fact it’s been a holiday nightmare since he ate the last of the pumpkin pie his ex-wife had given him, and it infinitely gets worse.

Mickey’s never liked this time of year and he has his reasons, one major one being the fact he’s never actually had a proper Christmas. No gifts or trees or fucking singing for the Milkoviches. This time was always a lucrative money grab because of course everyone wants to be on something when they gotta deal with family….or not deal with life anymore. It was definitely a white Christmas in their neighborhood. But Mickey also hated the songs and how everyone pretended to be saints and bleeding hearts for two months, then it’s back to being all about themselves by New Years. It’s a fake ass holiday, for fake ass people to spend a shit ton of money they’re definitely not getting back from their tax returns. Don’t even get him started on the freezing cold and shitty snow.

Mickey looked at the time, as he closed up his office, and saw it was almost time to be at the school. The good thing about being a radio dj was that he got to work in the middle of the day and get out by 3. Then he had the whole rest of the day to himself. The pay was crap, but he liked it. He never would’ve imagined a placement by his parole would turn into a career, and now he’s had his own segment for going on five years. Given the way he cursed, he was surprised they even gave him a chance, but he proved something to them and to himself and he couldn’t be…well, was he happy exactly? No, but he had a job and got to see his kid and a bed to go home to, and that was all he needed. All this other shit was just so extra, though.

He sighed, pulling on his hat and wrapping his scarf around his neck one more time before practically sliding all the way to his car. It was going to be absolute chaos in the streets. If a car accident didn’t kill him, Svetlana sure would for being late with Yev. Why she thought it was a good fucking idea to go to the mall on Christmas eve, he didn’t know, but he did know that he was going to need something stronger than coffee to get through it.

When Mickey finally pulled up to the school, it was crowded with cars and busses and parents. He spotted Yev and honked the horn, earning him a startled look from a passing mom. He shrugged unapologetically and watched his son run precariously through the poorly salted parking lot of the Chicago public school. As soon as he jumped in, all hell broke loose, but Mickey loved it. He loved his son so much, he’d do anything and be anything for him. He didn’t want to ever leave him again, which is why he was respectable now. He couldn’t stand not seeing him grow up for two years, but he made up for it every chance he got in his own way. It took him a while to learn how to be a father, but it was yet another job he was handed with no experience. He still remembers the day the doctor told them Yevgeny wasn’t…normal or whatever. What the fuck was normal anyway? Doc had said he might be difficult sometimes, but that it wasn’t his fault. Some chemicals got mixed around and with their shoddy family medical history, there was no way they could’ve predicted it. But Mickey didn’t care about all of that. He’d wanted to know if his boy would be okay and healthy, that was all that mattered. And he was, still is. Needs a little more attention than most other kids, but they got through it. Yevgeny looked more and more like him every day. He was ten now, going into middle school next year and Mickey almost couldn’t handle it.

“I got it! I got it! I got it! I got it!” Yev yelled excitedly, bouncing in his seat as his dad drove off.

“What’d you get, man?” Mickey asked, carefully weaving in and out of traffic.

“I got the part for the Christmas pageant tomorrow! Mr. Shipley said I played the best, so he picked me for the trumpet solo!”

“Wow, that’s fucking awesome, buddy.” Mickey would be lying if he said he wasn’t annoyed by the boy’s obsessive trumpet playing. It had been suggested by his music teacher when he saw how interested Yev had been in the instrument. Svetlana and he had jumped at the chance to have him finally into something and interacting, although they all quickly realized that he was more focused on performing by himself. But it had worked out and Yev obviously loved it, so they put up with the hours of noise. Honestly, Mickey was more proud than anything. They tried so hard with him and it was nice to see him thriving. All of Yev’s teachers knew he had AS, which made things a bit easier, but Mr. Shipley was definitely his favorite.

“Ay, you want food before we meet mommy?” Mickey asked, taking a chance with the question. Yevgeny was still talking, crossing and un-crossing his fingers over and over again.

“He’ll read my letter,” Yevgeny said then, as if that was his answer.

“What?” Mickey looks over at him but he knows that face. He’s done talking for now and that’s fine. Mickey had taken him to the station once and it did not go well at all, so they always kept the radio off. Mickey was fine with that after a day of dj-ing.

Mickey pulled into the mall parking lot and immediately wished he hadn’t. People are honking, tires are screeching, and there’s more than words flying. Mickey tries to keep his cool, but he’s not gonna let these idiots off without a warning. He let’s his middle finger fly, as Yev’s fingers continue their crossing. After missing two spots, getting one stolen, and following a disheveled looking mom with three kids for five minutes, they finally parked and made their way inside. It was even worse than outside. Mickey took Yev’s hand tight and led him through the masses, dodging inattentive shoppers and strollers with practiced ease. Svetlana had been calling him since they’d stepped foot through the doors. They found her in a line that wrapped so far down from the store, Mickey couldn’t be sure where it was supposed to be going.

“Mommy!” Yev ran to her, completely oblivious to how loud he’d been. They had gotten used to the stares a long time ago, but it still made Mickey bristle when they looked at his kid like they knew something was wrong. Him looking as old as he is, made some of his characteristics stand out but they didn’t care. He was their son.

“Hello, my love!” Svetlana yelled just as loud as he had to make him feel comfortable. She began speaking Russian and Mickey tuned out, wondering how long he had to stay.

“And how are you doing? Good, yes?”

“Yes, good,” Mickey mocked her cadence. She glared at him before breaking into a grin. Mickey smiled back. “And you?”

“I am fine. One of the dummies outside,” she jibbed, letting Mickey know she was listening to his show. “You’re Mr. Scrooge.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “And you’re Misses fucking Claus all of a sudden, huh?”

Svetlana laughed knowingly, playing with Mickey’s scarf. “You need to sit on Santa’s lap and get a gift.”

Mickey sighed and waved her off. “Whatever. I get laid. Don’t need anything from that fat fraud.” He knew he’d misspoke as soon as he said it. Svetlana’s face turned cold, eyes going wide and shifting to Yevgeny. Mickey dropped his head and scrubbed at his face. He had to fucking watch what he said because it was life and death to his son. This wasn’t something he would grow out of gradually, they had been waiting for that day but it seemed it was never going to come. Kids had teased him, tried to spoil it, but it didn’t get through to him. Santa was just as real as his mommy and daddy, and they were going to keep it that way no matter how old he got.

“Yevy, do you want to go see Santa? Daddy will take you to see Santa while mommy finishes shopping, yes, my sweet?”

“Yes,” Yevgeny said flatly. He couldn’t help it. Svetlana kissed his cheek and pushed him towards his dad, giving Mickey another stern look to silence his protest.

That’s how Mickey found himself standing in yet another line, this time full of exhausted parents and their crying brats, all to get a picture with the man in the red suit. Luckily he had convinced Yev to stop for pretzels first, but that felt like ages ago. Yevgeny stood stock still, staring at the giant tree towering over them, fixated on an ornament probably made by some kid in a hospital with something terminal. Mickey bit his lip, checking the time on his phone. He was going to rip his hair out and now Yev seemed to be getting antsy too.

Hands covered Mickey’s eyes and he whipped around to find his sister Mandy beaming at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Mandy laughed, hugging her brother. “What’s up, loser?” She turned to Yev, keeping her distance. “Hi, Yevgeny.” Her nephew didn’t speak to her but he was getting better at keeping eye contact, so she took it and ran. “Here, I got this for you,” she handed him a candy cane.

“You banging one of these elves for that?” Mickey asked, guiding them forward in the line.

“As a matter of fact, I am, which is more than you can say.” She giggled and wiggled her fingers at a blond girl wearing a whole elf getup. She winked back and ran her tongue along a candy cane.

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “So that’s a thing.”

Mandy shrugged with a smile. “So, you gonna ask Santa for a life?”

Mickey scoffed, “No, I’m gonna ask him for the forty-five minutes of it I just lost.” Finally they were at the front and Mickey pushed Yev forward, saying it was okay. He ignored the whispers and eyes, as Yev stumbled a little. Mickey let out a breath when he saw his son open up. He wouldn’t sit on the stranger’s lap no matter who he believed he was, but he was talking…and talking. Mickey scratched at the back of his neck, knowing he’d have to step in before the boy got carried away.

Mandy sighed. “What happened with those dates at least? Who are you going to kiss on New Years?” She poked her brother in the side and he smacked her hand away.

“Only thing I’m kissing is a bottle,” he laughed. He knew his sister was just worried about him, and pretty much everyone for no damn reason, but he didn’t need anyone but himself. He was fine on his own. Always had been. Sure, it was fucking lonely sometimes, but the only way he knew how to be okay was to not let anyone mess that up. He didn’t believe any one person had that much power to change someone’s life. No one knew him like he knew himself. As far as he was concerned, love was meant for family and that was it. No such thing as miracles for Mickey Milkovich.

Mandy laughed and knocked him upside his head. “I just want you to be happy, asshole.”

Mickey rolled his eyes but smiled, knowing she meant it. But his attention was drawn back to Yevgeny still talking to the bearded guy, as more and more parents were giving him concerned looks. Before he could move, Svetlana caught up to them. She said hi to Mandy, but her priority was her son when she realized several helpers were trying to usher him away. She ran up, speaking quickly in Russian, trying to explain but also comfort her little boy. He wasn’t visibly upset, but his fingers were crossing like crazy. Mickey felt bad for the kid. Mandy saw his face and squeezed his hand.

“The mailbox,” Yevgeny said as they moved him away from the commotion.

“Let’s go home, zhenya.”

“The mailbox.”

Mickey leaned down and ruffled his hair. “What about it, Yevy?”

“I wrote a letter in school,” Yev answered.

Mickey nodded but wasn’t any closer to figuring out what he meant.

“Come, Yevgeny, let’s go, okay?” Svetlana took his hand and he reluctantly went, unable to explain further than repeating himself. His fingers crossed and uncrossed. He rarely cried, but he did get frustrated. Mickey knew it wouldn’t be good if that happened, but he could tell he was getting more upset the closer they got to the doors.

“The mailbox! The mailbox! The mailbox!” He was getting loud and a security guard slowed down to assess the situation. Svetlana was trying to calm him, but he was pulling away from her. He usually didn’t want to be touched when he was upset, but they couldn’t let him go in a crowded mall.

“Yevy, it’s okay. Listen to mommy,” Mickey tried, glaring at the guard and anyone else who thought this was any of their business. “The fuck are ya’ll looking at?”

“Control your kid, man.”

“You wanna fucking go?” Mickey raised his eyebrows, stepping up to the jerk who had the nerve.

“The mailbox!” Yevgeny screamed.

“No, Yevgeny!” Mickey shouted, immediately regretting it, although the boy didn’t react. He picked him up and carried him out of the mall, Svetlana berating him the whole way.

Mandy stood by watching the scene unfold, helpless and not really feeling like she had a right to interfere. She watched the little family leave in a hurry, wishing she could’ve done anything but stand there.

“Shit,” she sighed, spotting Yevgeny’s letter on the floor. She picked it up and realized what had made him so upset. She thought for a moment then knew just what to do. She ran back to where they were before, searching around until she saw her…girlfriend? Maybe, if she was lucky.

“Karen! I need you to put this in that special mailbox thing,” she said, presenting the letter.

“Mandy, what—“

“Please, it’s for my nephew.”

“You have a nephew?” Karen asked, straightening her striped socks.

Mandy blushed a little. “Uh, the boy who was…boring Santa to death.”

“Oh,” Karen looked down at the letter then took Mandy’s hand, “…c’mon.”

Mandy smiled, following her to the bright red and gold mailbox behind Santa’s chair.

“What’s in this for me, though?” Karen smirked, stepping closer to Mandy after dropping the letter inside.

Mandy grinned, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Karen giggled, as Mandy pressed her against the box until they were interrupted by a mother tapping her foot impatiently.

“Oops,” Karen shrugged.

Mandy snorted. “Thanks.”

///////

Mickey put his head back and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He rubbed his face, putting his cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag. He exhaled the smoke out his car window, watching cars rolls by in the dirty slush. Lights twinkled as the snow kept falling. He took another drag and let the nicotine calm him down.

He’d fucking yelled at his kid.

Mickey sighed, smacking his hand on the steering wheel. They had gotten Yev to Svetlana’s car, calmer than he had been but still agitated; fingers going a mile a minute. Mickey had said he needed to get something and would meet them at home, running away like a dog with its tail between its legs. Svetlana had seen right through it, but let him go, assuring that she could handle their son. So now, he sat in his car outside the convenience store down a few blocks from where they lived. He got out and leaned against the car, finishing off his cigarette. It was cold and the snow was slowing down. He looked up and saw only dark sky and sparse flakes. He threw the butt into the street and walked up to the doors, ignoring the Salvation Army Santa. He made a beeline for the booze fridge, grabbing a six pack, a bottle of rum and a jug of eggnog for fun. He roamed the isles, trying to block out Mariah Carey’s over-the-top rendition of All I Want for Christmas is blahblahblah. He threw some chips into his basket, two energy drinks for his shift tomorrow. He got some powdered donuts for Yev because they were his favorite, then figured he should buck up and stop stalling. The kid would be sleep by the time he got in, but no doubt Svetlana was waiting to ring him out.

“Anything else for you, sir?”

“Nope.”

“Would you like to round up your total to make a donation for veterans this time of year?”

“What have they ever done for me?”

“Would you mind buying groceries for a family in need?”

“Against my religion.”

The clerk pursed his lips. “Can you at least contribute to the community toy drive, man? It’s Christmas eve.”

Mickey quirk education his eyebrow. “Do I look like I got a fucking Tickle Me Elmo up my sleeve?”

“Well you certainly have something up your ass,” the guy behind him sneered.

Mickey looked at him then back at the cashier. He slapped a twenty down on the counter and left. The Santa with his bucket and bell barely got a word out.

“Sorry, big ol’ ‘mo.”

He got back into his car and cracked a beer, chugging down half before starting the engine. He could make it home before he even got slightly buzzed. He’s done it a million times and nothing has ever happened. He belched loudly and pulled out onto the road. By the time he got to their apartment, he was two beers deep and more than drunk enough to take his ex’s tirade. He stumbled inside and threw everything down on the carpet, including his coat and shoes.

“You planning to run over Santa’s reindeer?” Svetlana says from the small kitchen.

“Huh?” Mickey plops down at the table and rips open his chips.

“You drink and drive hoping to kill yourself?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, chewing with his mouth open. He cracked the top on the eggnog and took a few sips, then chases it with a gulp of rum. It burns and it’s sweet and thick, but he swallows it down and waits for her to continue. Instead she copies him, sipping the seasonal drink and following with a heavier helping of rum.

“Yevy, he plays at school tomorrow in pageant. You go.”

“Can’t. Working.”

“He’s your son. It’s Christmas.”

“I know he’s my son, alright. But this fucking job pays for him, right?”

“He wants you there.”

Mickey looks away, but hates what he sees. Their artificial tree in pieces on the floor in the corner. He’d said he’d put it up weeks ago, but just never got around to it. A string of lights lay tangled in a box of half broken ornaments. His stomach rolled, but he kept drinking.

Svetlana came over to him and touched his face. “I know you love him, but when you find someone for you? Maybe never, ah? You don’t believe, but he does.”

Mickey moved away from her touch and thumbed at the corner of his mouth. “He’s gonna be eleven, going into middle school. He can’t—“

“He can do whatever he want. He is special boy.”

“You keep treating him like a baby, it’s only gonna make him worse.”

“Worse? Worse than what? He is good boy, nothing wrong with him you piece of shit!”

Fuck. He was too drunk. He was talking and not thinking, making this all worse.

“Lana, hey, I’m sorry. I know—“

“You don’t know shit!” Svetlana glared daggers at him, pointing her finger at him like his mom used to do when she got bad.

“Lana, wait—“

She shook her head, laughing to herself and muttering in Russian. “You’re a coward. Big radio man who doesn’t care about anything or anyone because he get hurt once. All a big show. Bah humbug because you don’t have anyone but yourself and it’s your fault.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this fight. Before Mickey can even stand up for himself, they both hear the sound of feet shuffling back down the hall. They both curse, knowing Yevgeny has heard them after waking up. He does it a lot at night, especially when something exciting is happening or he’s upset, in this case both. Svetlana leaves Mickey with a final glare, before going to tuck him back in. Mickey gets up and grabs the rum, heading to his room and slamming the door because he is a piece of shit.

“Fuck,” he sighs. He tips the bottle back and sends burning liquid down his throat.

He doesn’t know when he got like this. He’s always been a bit of a dick, courtesy of growing up in his neighborhood with a father like Terry. And then he discovered an even bigger reason not to let anybody get close enough to him. He had secrets that needed to be kept for his own safety, but of course he was the one that had screwed up. He let a guy in. Didn’t mean to, it just happened. He was young and stupid, or maybe he just really believed something could be good enough and real enough to take him away from it all. He was so wrong. So fucking wrong. Slipped up and next thing he knew he was fighting his dad off and fucking the woman who would become his wife and give him his son. It all happened so fast. Next time a guy tried to make shit more than it was, he pushed him away so hard it landed him in jail.

Mickey swore when he got out that he would never make those same mistakes. Instead of ever letting the same things happen and ruin his life again, he made it easy for everyone around him to just dismiss him at first glance. If he never got involved, he could never get hurt or screw anything up. So far it had worked out. He didn’t have any real friends but he didn’t need them. His son was everything to him and he tried his best, but it was hard sometimes. Raising a kid was already difficult enough, but add in the hand Yev got dealt and it became a whole different beast. But they made it through the tough years and only struggled a little. Mickey didn’t always know if what he was doing was right, but he couldn’t have been doing any worse than his father. And now he was thinking that wasn’t true. He didn’t even put up the damn tree. He put work before his kid and couldn’t be bothered to understand why his son thought all this Christmas bullshit was so important. Mickey had learned a long time ago what good wishing and believing did.

He kept drinking until he passed out.

///////

Mickey could hear the faint sound of bells. They were clear as day, right in his fucking ear. It couldn’t be morning already. He was just about to yell for them to stop when he heard the most beautiful sound ever. It was a voice, low and barely there just under the ringing. It sent shivers down Mickey’s spine that woke up every part of his body. It wasn’t a voice he’d ever heard before, but it felt familiar. It got a little louder and closer. It was so close, Mickey thought he felt warm breath on his face. His eyes fluttered open and searched for whoever was there. It was still dark, but he could see his whole room clearly, as he sat up in his bed.

There was no one there.

And then the voice was in his ear again, whispering softly and sweetly. It was driving Mickey crazy.

_Mickey_

_Mickey_

It was calling to him and he needed to go to it, wherever it was. He wanted to see who it belonged to. It was so light and inviting. A chill ran threw him like a window had been left open. It felt like it was pushing him, so he let it. He got out of bed and let it lead him out of his room. All the time his eyes were craving to see where the voice was coming from that continued to say his name. He passed Yevgeny’s open door and saw Svetlana curled around him. He walked into the living room and noticed a glass of milk next to a plate of store-bought cookies because he hadn’t had time to bake with his family. He kept going, feeling a pull as he got closer to the sliding doors leading to their tiny balcony. He stepped outside in nothing but his jeans, shirt and socks, but didn’t feel cold at all.

_Mickey_

It was on the wind.

_Mickey_

In the swirling flurries.

_Mickey_

On his own breath cloud.

But still there was nothing.

Mickey looked up at the moon. It was bright overhead and making the freshly fallen snow glitter. But even that sight didn’t compare to the voice that was suddenly behind him. He turned around and was met with evergreen eyes.  
Mickey’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. There was a tall man standing in front of him, looking at him like he was going to kiss him if Mickey didn’t do it first.

Mickey’s initial instinct was to do just that, but that is not what happened.  
Instead, Mickey started yelling.

“Who the fuck are you? How did you get up here you sick fuck? If you don’t get off my goddamn property we’re gonna have a serious fucking problem, man!”

The man flinched a little, eyebrows furrowing together over startled eyes.

“Hey, shhh, shh okay? Would you stop?” He put his hands out and Mickey stepped back.

“Don’t touch me! You have five seconds to get the hell out of here before I call the cops!”

“No, no you don’t understand—“

“Oh I fucking understand alright. Thought you could come up in here and steal from me, huh? What kind of lowlife son of a bitch does a B and E on Christmas eve, huh?”

“No, it’s not like that. I was sent here—“

“Sent? Who sent you?” Mickey looked around, a feeling creeping in and breaking through the calmness he’d felt a moment ago. Was his father after him from beyond the grave? Did he still want vengeance or was this guy working for someone looking to settle a score with Terry? Panic was rising in him, leaning towards fight because his family was just inside and he had to protect then at all cost. He sized the guy up and figured he could get in a few hits if he was quick. “Talk!” He gritted, fists clenching.

“Mickey.”

Everything stopped for Mickey. His heart stopped pounding, his mind stopped racing. Warmness filled him and he felt calm. Then Mickey’s eyes went wide. The voice he’d heard before. “That was you?!”

The guy nodded, looking torn between ashamed and smug. He looked relieved too.

“The fuck do you want? What is this? What’s happening?”

The guy stood there in jeans, a Henley and a beanie that were all a deep forest green that made the sliver of red hair stand out more.

“I was sent here by the man up there,” the guy pointed up towards the sky.

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “God? Am I fucking dead? Is this some Wonderful Life bullshit? I can’t be dead, I can’t—“

“Whoa, hey, okay wait I messed that up. I’m sorry, let me try that again, yeah? Sorry.” The guy actually fucking blushed. “Um, yeah, so…I meant the other man up there.”

Mickey stared at him.

The guy searched his face for understanding, but didn’t find it.  
“You know, the big guy up north?” He waited again for his meaning to hit Mickey but it just didn’t. He sighed. “This usually goes better, I swear,” he tried for humor, but Mickey wasn’t having it.

“Would you just get on with it?”

“Santa! Hello? My boss? Red suit, belly laugh? I’m starting to see why he sent me.”

“You keep saying that. What do you mean sent you? You still haven’t told me who you are and what the hell you’re doing here!”

The guy sort of smiled and straightened to his full height. “Ian the Elf, here on behalf of Santa Claus himself to personally escort you, Mickey Milkovich of Earth.”

A few beats passed before Mickey burst out laughing, doubling over and holding his gut. He shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “No. Nope. No way. I’m dreaming. This is a fucking dream.”

Ian shrugged, looking unfazed. “If it helps you to look at it that way.”

“What other way is there to look at it? Unless I’m absolutely hammered and you’re on crack. You expect me to believe all that shit you just said?” Mickey laughed again.

Ian caught a snowflake and examined it on the tip of his finger. It stayed perfectly frozen in its precisely one of a kind form. “Are you done?”

Mickey stopped laughing and touched his thumb to his lip. “Yeah, I am. Done. Done. Fucking done.” He stepped around the guy, Ian or whatever, and went back inside closing and locking the door. He walked to the kitchen sink and splashed water on his face, not sure if he was trying to wake up or sober up.

“Gotta stop drinking before bed,” he concluded, then headed back to his room. He got back in bed and pulled the covers up. He just needed some sleep. He was obviously stressed and it was making him see shit that wasn’t there. He settled in, turning on his side and coming face to face with Ian.

“Holy fucking shit! Are you kidding me? This is real!” Mickey practically jumps out of the bed.

Ian put his hand over Mickey’s mouth. “Are you trying to wake everyone in this apartment? Geez! Of course this is real, now would you stop freaking out?”

“You were serious back there with all of that?”

Ian nodded slowly, hoping it would dial things down a few notches.

Mickey was pacing now, running his hands through his hair. “Alright, okay….are you really an elf?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t your ears pointy then? And you’re like, seven foot tall!”

“Six-eleven, actually. And, uh,” he lifted his beanie to show off his ears. “Anything else?”

“How come your voice is normal…it’s like, deep.” Mickey felt stupid but he was still just trying to process all of this.

“Big dick and balls,” Ian winked, then laughed when Mickey went red in the face. “Are you done with the questions now?”

“What did you mean by ‘of earth’? Because people will lose their fucking minds if aliens are responsible for Christmas.”

Ian laughed, and it was just as intriguing as when he’d been calling to Mickey. “No. It’s not aliens, but our North is not the same as your north.”

Mickey thought about that, still trying to put the pieces together in a way that made sense and didn’t completely fuck with everything he ever knew in his entire life. Easier said than done. Ian got up and came over to him. Mickey couldn’t help but bite his lip when he got closer. That same chill ran down his spine and it made him feel like a teenager again. Ian had the faintest freckles and his skin looked so smooth it could’ve been porcelain.

“You need to say you want this.”

Mickey almost choked. “Wh-what?”

“I can’t take you unless you want to go,” Ian explained.

Mickey thinks for a moment. “So, what, like…if I get my ass back in bed right now, nothing happens?”

“Mhm.”

Mickey nodded, seriously considering it. He was still half convinced this was a very lucid dream. What would be the harm if he refused? How did he know this wasn’t some prank or would lead to his death?

“Mickey?”

That voice again. Soft and delicate and just for him. Fuck whatever magic was making him feel like a hole was being filled inside of him.

“Fine,” he blurted out, then cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Yeah, take me to…your leader or whatever.”

Ian beamed, clapping his hands and jumping around for a second. “Yay!”

Mickey wanted to laugh. A giant elf was bouncing around his room in the middle of the night and he was amused and not grabbing his glock. Tinkling bells could be heard every time he moved. It was ridiculous. “Did you just yay?”

Ian didn’t answer, but grabbed Mickey by the hand and started running. “Come on!” He took them back out to the balcony and sprang up onto the railing, pulling Mickey up with him.

“Jump!”

“Are you fucking insane?” Mickey yelled, suddenly realizing the wind and snow had picked up to a blustering frenzy. He couldn’t see anything but when he looked down there was a roaring hole like the eye of a tornado.

“No! No fucking way!”

“Trust me!” Ian shouted, looking Mickey in his eyes and squeezing his hand.

_Trust me, Mickey._

Mickey looked at him for one more moment before nodding. Ian pulled him to him in a tight hug, gripping his waist. Mickey wasn’t expecting him to be so warm, but he sunk into him with his cheek against his surprisingly hard chest. Ian asked if he was ready and all he could do was wrap his arms around him tighter, scared for his life but also totally sure Ian wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He felt their feet leave the thin rail and he shut his eyes, burying his face into Ian’s shirt. They fell backwards and Ian whooped like this was the greatest thing ever. They fell forever, it seemed, tumbling down into the vortex of snow and wind. It swallowed them up and pulled them further and further down…or up, Mickey wasn’t sure. They dipped and turned and spun, pockets of cold air blasting them every which way. Mickey could feel his nails digging into Ian’s back and he didn’t feel bad in the slightest. This was fucking awful. He wished it would stop. He wanted to get off and wake up in his bed with just enough time to go back to sleep before morning. He could hear himself yelling and gasping for breath as they were squeezed and twisted. This needed to stop. Right now. He wanted Ian to make it stop. Ian held onto him. It got dark as they plummeted through a tunnel. He was dead. Mickey was dead for sure. What had he been thinking, trusting and letting some hot guy talk him into all of this? He was stupid. He said he’d never let something like this happen. He told himself to never feel anything or let people in, and now he was dead.

_Mickey_

_Mickey_

_Mick, open your eyes_

Mickey felt a warm hand on his cheek, caressing it softly. That voice was so soothing. Every time he heard it, it was like a light went on in the dark recesses of his heart. Mickey listened to it, opening his eyes. He gasped, sucking in air and breathing hard like he’d just come back to life. His eyes watered, as he gulped and shivered. Suddenly there was an onslaught of sounds and smells and light.

“Mickey? Mickey, look at me, hey. You’re fine. You’re okay.”

He saw Ian talking to him and could feel his hands on him, but the corners of his vision were getting fuzzy and his knees weak. He fell forward, leaning into Ian more.

“No no no, hey hey, don’t pass out! Mickey, don’t—“

“I smell…cookies.”

_Mickey Mickey Mickey!_

Everything went black.

                   

                           ~~~☆ ~~~

* * *

 

Ian sipped his warm cup of cocoa, giant marshmallows bumping his nose as he watched his charge.

Mickey Milkovich, human of earth, passed out on his bed. At least he hoped he was just passed out. He hadn’t moved since Ian picked him up and placed him down carefully on top of his blankets. He was very pretty. Blue eyes like a frozen lake or Jack Frost himself. His skin wasn’t like his. It felt real, with imperfections and blood flowing through it; not plastic or fake.  
He set his mug down and went over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed although Mickey was curled up on his side in the middle. He could see his body moving up and down with each breath. He leaned down to get a closer look, fascinated by the man. He didn’t think he would actually come, but he had. He had trusted Ian. Ian peered down at him, feeling something in him that he couldn’t describe. It was fleeting, but it felt good. Mickey shifted, rolling onto his stomach and rubbing his face against his pillow, his mouth twitching slightly as he breathed in deeply. Ian smiled, wondering what he was dreaming about. He wondered what it felt like to dream. It was late and he was kind of tired himself, but he felt the urge to wake him. He poked him in the back gently at first then a little harder. Mickey stirred, turning and blinking up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Ian?” He sat up and looked around, holding his head. “Where the hell am I? And why does it feel like my fucking brain is splitting?”

“My place. We came through and I think it was…a bit much. You, uh, passed out.”

Mickey rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he seemed to get his bearings and remember what happened. He hit Ian hard in the stomach.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You didn’t fucking warn me! What the hell was that thing, huh?”

Ian shrugged, looking slightly guilty. “It’s the fastest way to travel between worlds. I had to get you here somehow.”

Mickey scoffed then froze. “Wait a minute, worlds? As in plural?”

Ian ignored this. “Do you want some cocoa?” He started to get up, but Mickey caught his wrist.

“Hey! Are you gonna start explaining what the fuck I’m doing here?”

“I told you. He wants to see you. I’m just doing my job.”

Mickey laughed incredulously, nodding. “Right. He as in Santa Claus? What’s he want with me, I thought the voyeuristic fucker could see me when I’m sleeping?”

Ian shoved him, making him fall back on the bed. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Mickey didn’t stay down, though, he got up quickly and pushed Ian back. “You love him or something? You got a thing for creepy old guys who give you nice things, Ian?” He pushed him again.

“He actually cares about us, about everyone. He has a heart. Unlike you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t care about everyone.” He didn’t know why he was doing this. He was confused, disoriented, he needed to fight someone and Ian was making him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time. “He’s not even real. He’s a myth!”

Ian got in Mickey’s face, getting frustrated. “You’re a myth!” This was stupid. He should’ve just left him sleeping, should’ve maybe left him back on earth but this was his job. He didn’t understand where everything had gone wrong. He must have messed up the magic somewhere. Or maybe there was just no hope for this charge. Not everyone changed. It was a decision they had to make, a choice. When he had seen the look in Mickey’s eyes when he’d let Ian take him, he thought there was a chance. He was obviously wrong, but he wasn’t going to stand for him badmouthing his boss…his father.

“He’s the greatest man ever. He’s more real than you’ll ever be.”

Mickey swallowed down that sting. He could stop. He could stop right now and apologize, listen and understand. But everyone’s words about him being cold and unlikable flooded his head. Instead of backing down and not making this worse, he grinned slyly.

“Misses Claus know you been sittin’ on her husband’s lap after hours?”

Ian punches him. Quick and precise. A solid hit that sends Mickey reeling for all of three seconds. Then he’s on him like white on snow. He gets Ian in the stomach to bring him down so he can get in a good hit to his jaw. Ian uses his height to counteract Mickey’s weight, and they break a chair before hitting the floor. They roll a few times fighting for dominance, grunting and swinging away. Somehow they get back on their feet long enough to immediately crash onto the bed. They scramble around each other, holding and pushing and pulling. Mickey gets the upper hand with Ian on his back, and grabs a decorative wooden candy cane off the wall. He holds it up, ready to strike, and Ian can’t control it.

_Mickey!_

Mickey freezes, looking down at him and breathing hard. Ian looks up at him, stunned and more than a little flushed. He’s got him pinned under him, one hand on his chest the other raised above his head but frozen. And he feels it. He knows it’s there and he knows Ian knows it’s there. Ian says his name again, and it’s over. He breaks. Mickey drops the kitschy item and quickly goes for the dark green Henley. Ian hesitates for only a second then clumsily raises his arms up. Mickey takes his shirt off and goes for his pants, but gets distracted by his need to get Ian more naked than himself.

“Get these off,” he muttered, yanking at Ian’s perfectly tight jeans.

When they were finally free of their clothes, Ian covered Mickey with his body. He slid his thigh between his legs and looked at every inch of him. He ran his hand down Mickey’s chest past his stomach, feeling him and taking in everything that was different. Mickey groaned and arched into the sensation of Ian’s weight and attention. He was making small whining sounds and needy gasps, gripping at Ian’s hard form. He was smooth and soft, but also warm like holding a cup of hot coffee. Mickey looked up at Ian, suddenly realizing that he seemed a bit at a loss for what to do next.

Mickey bit his lip, eyes rolling back slightly. All the guy was doing was touching him and it felt better than all the sex he’s ever had combined. He cursed, bucking against Ian’s thigh for the friction and getting the most satisfied grin in return.

“Have you…done this before?” Mickey pants, hoping he doesn’t sound like an idiot.

Ian flushed red, shaking his head. “Not with someone like you…a human. It’s different here. Complicated.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow, absently caressing and running his nails along anywhere he could reach. “How complicated?”

“Elves are made differently than in your world. We love, we feel, but we’re not here to love each other and show it…not like this. With our bodies.” He moved his hips against Mickey and watched his face. It was more beautiful than when he was sleeping or angry. His eyes fluttered, his breath was quick, and noises escaped him that made him feel that same feeling he couldn’t place before. Everything he did got a response. He liked it. He didn’t know what to do but could feel his body trying to take over, take control. He wanted more of Mickey when moments ago they had been at each other’s throats. Mickey reached up and touched his ears, tracing the pointed shape of them then coming down to frame his face. He looked him in his eyes then pulled him down until their lips met. A kiss. It was amazing. Incredible. Extraordinary. Ian made a sound, a happy exhilarating sound accented by faint bells. Mickey smiled against his mouth.

“What is that?” Mickey asked between kisses.

Ian chuckled into his neck, hiding his face for a second. “The sound of bells means excited elves,” he recited, then shrugged. “Can’t help it.”

Mickey nodded slowly, getting a lust filled look in his eyes. “Excited, huh? In my world we call that horny.” He captured Ian’s bottom lip with his teeth and squeezed his ass. Ian let out a breathy laugh, hips rutting on their own. Mickey kissed him again, pulling him closer and rolling them over. He straddled Ian’s thighs, arching his back as Ian groped at him. The kiss deepened, their tongues were everywhere. Mickey could tell Ian was following his lead, but he wanted more of him.

“You weren’t lying about the big dick and balls…fucking hell,” he mutters more to himself, but sees Ian swell with smug pride. He has these moments of cockiness that drive Mickey insane. “Do you want to?”

Ian thinks he knows what he means, but it doesn’t matter because his answer is yes.

“You sure?”

It’s almost not fair with Mickey asking him with his lips just hovering over his, ready to kiss him again. He wants it though. All of it. All of Mickey. He nods.

“Yeah. Please.”

They’re kissing again, more feverish and sure this time. Mickey reaches down and fondles him, touching and stroking until he can hardly stand it. He’s shaking and breathing hard, as he watches Mickey bend down and lick him. It’s so overwhelming and good. He takes it further, completely engulfing him and making him arch off the bed. It feels so amazing, he doesn’t realize when he starts begging.

_Mickey_

_Oh Mickey_

_Yeah, like that_

_Please, Mick_

_Need you. Want it so bad_

Mickey moans and shivers all over, the voice hitting him like a boulder. He pulls off and quickly lines up, kissing Ian as he sinks down onto him until he can’t go anymore.

“Oh!” Ian punches out, not expecting the new feeling. It’s tight and hot and wet and absolutely wonderful. He looks up at Mickey’s face and he never wants to take his eyes away.

“Shit…fuck!” Mickey hisses, adjusting then letting his body take over. He moves slow at first, but abandons that rhythm when Ian grabs his ass and makes him go faster. “Fuck, Ian!”

Ian likes fast. Fast is better. He pushes and pulls Mickey on top of him, making him grunt and whine like when he was just touching him. They go and go like that, Mickey changing the angle when he really just wants to lick into Ian’s mouth. Ian likes this. It makes him feel not hollow and plastic, but like he’s something more. Mickey kisses his ears, his jaw, his mouth. His hand presses into Ian’s chest, as he bounces up and down. Ian surges up so Mickey is in his lap, legs spreading wider a little. Mickey moans and wraps his arms around his neck, lifting himself a little so Ian can thrust up into him. He smiles in his ecstasy, as the sound of bells fill his ears and everywhere else inside him. Ian is everywhere in him and it feels something like happiness when he finally let’s go between them. Ian follows him soon after and they collapse with heavy limbs and breaths.

“Oh my Claus,” Ian says to his low ceiling, a smile on his face.

Mickey giggles into his neck. He’s sweaty but Ian still feels dry and smooth. He smells like a snowy forest, sugar, and peppermint all rolled into one. His head is spinning. He can’t believe what just happened.

“I just banged an elf.” He moved to Ian’s side and laughed at the irony of his earlier exchange with his sister. “I just got my brains fucking scrambled by one of Santa’s helpers.”

“Hey, I’ve been promoted to head assistant, thank you.”

Mickey snorted. “Well excuse me. Congrats.” He’s being a dick but he feels like he means the praise.

“Can you explain how this was even possible? You said you guys weren’t made to bump uglies, but you definitely ain’t no Ken doll.”

Ian is quiet a moment as he thinks. He sighs, crossing one arm behind his head and running the other hand down Mickey’s side. “I’m the only one who’s like this…different. It shouldn’t have been possible, but there’s something inside me that makes me feel things not like the others.”

Mickey thought about that. It made him think about Yevgeny and how he’s seen by other people. They explain to him why he’s a little different, but does he understood that when it feels like everything and everyone is against him? Does he get that it’s not his fault? He looks at the side of Ian’s face and wonders what it must be like to not be able to hide a part of yourself. Half his life was spent keeping himself a secret, but it’s not so easy when you stick out. He imagines Ian ignoring the whispers and eyes but longing for them to stop.  
Ian looks down at Mickey and sees something in his eyes.

“You don’t need to feel bad for me. I’ve accepted it. I live my life, do my job. I still care…still believe. We’re all family, I’m just more intense. I’m not ashamed. I’m not afraid to feel.”

Mickey swallowed, eyes shifting away and back to Ian’s face. This time Ian kisses him first, slow but filled with passion and warmth.

They do it again. Slow with Ian between Mickey’s legs, pinning their linked hands to the bed. Ian likes slow too.

Mickey let’s Ian in and in and in.

He falls asleep to the voice whispering softly in his head with the sound of bells.

///////

“The North Pole is a fucking mall,” Mickey deadpanned, taking in the sight in front of him. There were elves everywhere, all of them coming up to about his waist and Ian’s knees. He wasn’t fucking kidding. He was a giant compared to them, but they all looked normal enough. They hustled and bustled about, all in their own worlds. The only difference was that the atmosphere was less murderous and more polite and cheerful. Giggles and bells abound, even some singing or whistling. Everyone had a smile on their face. Stores were homes or shops. There were decorations on every inch of everything, and massive trees stood towering over it all with over a billion lights and sparkling bulbs. And it smelled like gingerbread. Mickey remembers smelling it before in Ian’s house, but it was mixed with Ian’s own smell. Mickey preferred it to the almost suffocating spicy sweet air.

Ian smiled as Mickey took it all in. Obviously he hadn’t wanted to spoil his initial reaction, so he’d said as little as possible over a breakfast of fruitcake and hot cocoa. Somehow he’d managed to dodge the trickier questions without pissing him off too much. Nothing he couldn’t fix with his mouth and Mickey’s pants around his ankles. He liked that too, tasting Mickey. He felt something in his chest as he thought about how much time was left. He pulled Mickey by the hand out of the way of an elf carrying a neatly stacked dozen or so presents.

“Wait, is it still—“

“Christmas eve,” Ian answered, pulling him along through the crowd. “Time is different here.”

Mickey let himself be led to an up escalator. He looked up as they rode and squinted, realizing he couldn’t see the ceiling.

“How many floors does this place have?”

“One thousand, two hundred and twenty five,” Ian rattled off easily, then added, “the higher levels are newer for corporate. Need special clearance.” He smiled proudly, showing Mickey the lanyard with his ID badge on it. He wiggled his eyebrows.

Mickey laughed, following closely behind him and trying his best not to get in anyone’s way. It looked like chaos to him, but also a well-oiled machine. Elves weaved around each other, only stopping to relay information or pass something along. It reminded him of the ants in Yev’s ant farm. He thought about him and Svetlana sleeping peacefully and unaware of just how far down this whole Christmas business goes. He took it all in and wondered what would happen when they finally got where they were heading. But he also felt some kind of way about afterward. He’d tried to ask Ian all his questions, but was admittedly okay with being distracted from them right their in Ian’s kitchen. Mickey caught himself smiling and was grateful humans didn’t jingle.

“Wait a minute…one, two, two, five? As in Christmas?” He asked, as they rode another escalator.

Ian chuckled, “Catching on, huh?” He grinned at Mickey and was amused by his exasperated eye roll. He could see all over his face that he was genuinely fascinated and he hadn’t really seen anything yet. He looked at a giant golden clock and watched it count down. They had a little bit of time. Ian wanted to show Mickey everything he could, just to see his face, but quickly decided on a few things. He nodded to his right towards two giant double doors. “This way.”

The doors closed behind them and suddenly they were in a dimly lit corridor with wooden walls and floor. It didn’t take Mickey long to figure out they were in the inner-workings of the mall, as they came to a service elevator. They stepped inside and Ian swiped his ID, sending it in a direction Mickey couldn’t describe as up or down. But he could care less about that when Ian backed him up against the wall and put his nose to his neck. Ian had said he didn’t smell like anything he’d ever smelled before, and Mickey had teased that the constant baking sugar smell would fuck up anyone’s senses. Ian laughed and it was just as relaxing as his voice. Now he was pressing tiny kisses along his collar that was making him forget where he was. He fisted his green button down shirt and pulled him closer. Ian had the sleeves rolled and it was tucked into green pants that made Mickey want to take them off.

Ian reluctantly pulled away, hands lingering on Mickey’s hips. He was getting too excited. “Come on.” He led them out of the elevator and other to a platform that wrapped around an entire factory warehouse.

Mickey slowly walked to the railing and looked down, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open. “Holy shit.” He was in shock. Six massive fireplaces circled the area, bathing it in bright warm light. There was an even bigger tree with huge ornaments that actually looked like offices. Fucking hell. Red and gold embroidered carpet lined the entire space and it smelled like icing. Mickey took a deep breath, inhaling both the new scent and Ian’s as he stood next to him. “This is…,” Mickey searched his brain for words that would fit what all he was seeing without sounding lame. Elves were everywhere, working hard pushing carts full of presents piled so high only by magic.

“Incredible,” Ian supplied, looking out with a twinkle in his eye. “Never gets old and I’ve been working here all my life. I sometimes just come here to relax when things are too much.”

Mickey could understand that. He found himself sneaking to the station more than once when it seemed like his son wasn’t making any progress. He knows it was selfish. It probably didn’t help for Yevgeny to see him running away every time something got hard. And he tried to get better about it, but now he’d replaced it with working constantly to provide whatever the kid needed. It worked out, but only in the sense that they didn’t struggle so much financially. It didn’t make up for the lost time, though. But this was Ian’s whole existence and the fact he still appreciated it made Mickey want him more.

Mickey watched the awe on Ian’s face and it made him want to do something, anything. Their hands were close, it wouldn’t be much for Mickey to rest his on top. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Whatever his body was feeling, he couldn’t give into it. Even though his heart ached to deny himself once again, it hurt even more to think about leaving Ian. Ian looked at him and smiled, looking like he was about to reach for him for a kiss. Mickey turned away quickly.

“Can we go down?” He asked, already moving to a set of stairs.

“Uh…mhm.”

Mickey’s socks hit the carpet and it was the softest thing he’d ever felt. He and Ian stayed towards the outside edge of everything, just walking through and observing. Just about every elf acknowledged Ian in some way, some seeming more acquaintance than coworker. Ian greeted them back with his perfect smile and addicting demeanor, stopping to help or answer questions where he could. He wasn’t in control of anything that went on here, but his position made him privy to more information that could be critical. Ian explained all this as he walked, leading Mickey on a sort of tour and pointing things out to him. He seemed to slip into a more professional role, and Mickey couldn’t help but be turned on. He tried to ignore the feeling in his gut by paying extra attention to the many details. The elves mostly just looked at him with little interaction, and he was fine with that.

As Ian moved, he kept stealing glances at Mickey to see how he was taking it all. He was doing surprisingly well, listening and being the perfect tourist. It almost seemed forced. Something had changed in Mickey since they’d gotten off the elevator. Everything had been fine and then their was a shift. He hates that he immediately noticed it, but being like him made him incredibly tuned into others. He had a feeling what it might be because of course his hopes had skyrocketed, waking up to Mickey in his bed and feeling like someone understood him. They had connected even from the start, but there had always been an end.

“Jesus, what’s that smell?” Mickey complained, covering his nose. It strongly reminded him of some of the exhibits at the zoo when he took Yev. They rounded a corner and the answer stood right in front of him in a stable. “Are those…?”

“Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen’s got a cracked hoof, and finally—“

“Rudolph?” Mickey raised his eyebrow, tongue poking out playfully.

“Who?” Ian stared at him blankly.

Mickey scoffed, “Ha ha. You know, Rudolph the rednosed reindeer?”

Ian looked even more confused. “The what? Is this an earth joke or something?”

Mickey hesitated now. Ian genuinely looked clueless. It was kind of cute, but mostly annoying. “C’mon, quit playing around. I know what I’m fucking talking about. Rudolph’s the one that guides the slay cause his nose lights up.”

Ian folded his arms and thought about that, really trying to understand what he was missing. “Why does it light up?”

Mickey sighed exasperatedly, “How the hell should I know? That’s how the story fucking goes. He’s a special snowflake or whatever.”

Ian’s eyebrows raised with interest. He didn’t know what Mickey was talking about, but he wanted to know more about this reindeer with this wild trait.

“Nike and Aros usually take lead, and Dave here is our alternate,” he explained, petting him and giving him a kiss. “He’s a good boy. Is that Rudolph one a male or female?”

Mickey laughed, he couldn’t help it. Clearly Ian was stuck on the fictional creature. The irony being he was standing in a smelly stable surrounded by actual reindeer and he didn’t know what to believe anymore. He walked up to one and looked at the name tag on its collar. It read Stephanie and Mickey smiled even more. Somehow he could tell she was old by the way she looked at him. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“The females are stronger,” Ian answered as though it were common knowledge. He waved Mickey over to a smaller pen in the corner. He climbed over easily and helped Mickey over. A little calf bounded up to him, bleating happily. He chuckled. “This is Olive. She was born two days ago and is already starting to leap.”

Mickey watched the baby animal show off around the pen that already looked too small for her. “She’s fucking cute,” he admitted with the biggest grin on his face. Then Ian was pulling him over to sit on some bales of hay, and setting her in his lap. She was heavier than he thought she’d be, but so soft he almost teared up. She looked at him, sniffed him, looked at Ian and then lay down, curling up against him. Without even thinking about it, he began petting her as she fell asleep. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He was smiling when he noticed Ian watching him.

“What? Am I doing this wrong or something?”

Ian shook his head, playing with a piece of hay. It was getting harder and harder not to like Mickey. He didn’t want to check the time, but he knew they would have to get going soon.  
“Tell me more about Rudolph,” he blurted out, trying to drag it out as long as possible.

So Mickey told him the story of a little reindeer who had a secret to keep unless he wanted to be made fun of. Of course, with something so bright shining out of him, he was found out and laughed at. He was an outcast amongst his own kind. Then one day he was called for the most important job of his life by Santa himself. He couldn’t help but remember how he got where he was. He’d just been trying to keep his head down, not give his fellow elves a reason to look at him differently. Then he was summoned. He’d been so nervous, but it all turned out okay….better than okay. Mickey comments that his son was the one who taught him the story. Ian notes the proud smile on his face and part of him wishes there were children in this world.

“How do kids react when they see all this shit?” Mickey asks, seemingly reading his mind. He continues scratching at Olive’s fur like he’s been doing it all his life.

Ian shrugs. “We don’t bring them.”

Mickey’s eyes go wide and his hand stops for a moment. “What do you mean? You’ve never brought any kids here? Ever? This would blow their fucking minds.”

“They don’t need it. That’s not what this program is for.”

“What program?”

Ian sighs. He could feel things shifting again and he wanted to go back to listening to stories about little reindeer that overcame. “It’s complicated.” Mickey gave him a look. He swallowed. “We used to bring them. It was before my time. Everything was fine, they loved it. Then we had to stop.”

“Why?”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” Mickey challenged.

“It got hard, so then we started with the parents and it was better,” Ian explained, not looking at him.

“Better for fucking who? Not the poor kids, not the ones who needed something…anything to fucking cling to.” Mickey was getting mad. Ian wasn’t giving him the whole story. He knew more than he was letting on and Mickey was sick of it. He had felt something between them. He didn’t want to, but he did. He’d gotten distracted by everything and caught up in his feelings like some bitch, and now the illusion was falling apart.

“It’s not like that. It’s my job to—“

“To what? Bring adults here and show them all this just because it’s easier?”

“The kids don’t need this,” Ian tries.

“Bullshit!” Olive startles in his arms and he sort of feels bad for a second. “I needed this! Back when I got hit whether I was naughty or nice. When the only gift I ever got was a hug from my mom before she died. Back when Christmas break meant standing on the corner in the fucking snow so we could eat. Bullshit, kids don’t need it!” Mickey could feel tears sting his eyes and he quickly wiped at them.

“Mickey, I’m sorry.” Ian really was. He felt bad, hearing the pain and hurt in Mickey’s voice. He could see it in his eyes too. He wanted to wipe his tears away, touch him, hug him…something.

“Why am I here, huh?” Mickey sounds cold now, hard like back in his world. His walls were going back up.

“He wants to see you.”

Mickey snorted derisively. “What for? Why now? He wanna prove he exists and scratch his own ego? Feel better about giving kids shit their parents can buy them?”

Ian doesn’t answer. Mickey shakes his head at him.

“He’s never been real to me, and showing me all of this ain’t gonna change that.”

“That was always up to you,” Ian says quietly.

“Oh thanks so much.” Mickey’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and resentment.  
It’s clear he hasn’t changed. He doesn’t know who he thought Mickey was between waking up to soft kisses and seeing him be gentle with Olive, but he isn’t here now. And maybe he would always be bitter and mad at the world and use it as an excuse to be miserable.

“What do you even get out of all this? Working day in and day out with fucks who probably talk about you behind your back. You worship this guy like he’s God, but what’s in it for you?”

Ian can’t take it anymore. “Jack Frost! You’re unbelievable. Why do you have to shit on everything that could be good for you? You keep everything at a distance unless you can control it. Just because you’re a hollow shell, incapable of feeling anything deeply enough…to let anything in. It’s all about you. All about poor Mickey!”

“Fuck you!”

Ian laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I let myself actually….you’re just another charge.”

“Oh yeah? Finally a real answer from you. Why don’t you do your precious fucking job and let’s get this over with!”

“Fine!” There were definitely no bells, no magical calming voice. Ian snapped his fingers and suddenly the ground was rumbling. They left the stable, but instead of going back to the warehouse, they were now on a platform looking at a giant train billowing steam before them.

Mickey fixed his face and kept his comments about Hogwarts to himself to not give Ian the satisfaction of seeing him impressed. He stepped up into it, following Ian through a glass door and into a car with tables between the seats. Ian sat down at one and Mickey found another to throw himself down at because he was an asshole who didn’t know how to not make things worse. He had no idea where all his anger had suddenly come from or why he decided Ian should take the brunt of it. If anything he should’ve saved it for this stupid meeting and let their last hours together be something to take back with him. He glanced over at Ian who was chugging at a cup of hot cocoa like it was spiked. He could use a drink right about now. He hated that he would settle for a warm cup of his own with whipped cream.

It appeared in front of him, the smell of chocolate hitting him instantly. He made the mistake of looking over at Ian for an explanation. Ian caught his eyes but if he had one he didn’t offer it. Fuck. What was wrong with him?

Mickey picked up the cup and drank, gulping down the warm beverage and licking the cream from his lips. Ian tried not to sneak a peek but it was useless. Even with the way Mickey was acting, he wanted to go over to him and taste his mouth with a kiss. Why was he like this?

The train pulled away and entered a tunnel that would disappear with the tracks as soon as they went through it.

///////

“Ian! Hi!” The elf sitting behind a desk jingles with glee. She looked genuinely happy to see him, as far as Mickey could tell.

“Hey, Fiona. How are you?”

“Hit a little snag with the sleigh earlier, but everything is absolutely perfect now!” She giggled then noticed Mickey standing with his arms crossed. She motioned for Ian to come down to her level but didn’t exactly change the volume of her voice. “Is that him?”

Mickey frowned. “No, it’s the ghost of Christmas present. Get it?” He smiled smugly at Ian when that got a little squeak out of her.

Ian sighed, rolling his eyes. “Ignore him. Is He in?”

Fiona nodded, sparing another glance at Mickey before she disappeared for a full minute. Ian was extremely focused on the snow softly falling from the ceiling and evaporating before it reached either of their heads. There was a fireplace with a crackling fire filling the silence. There was so much tension in the room, Mickey could probably smell it through the haze of sugar cookies. Ian still looked so good in his work clothes, it sucked. When the elf finally returned, they’d both apparently been holding their breath.

“He’ll see you now,” she directed them to the door she just came through.

“Thanks, Fi,” Ian said, taking a cookie from a pile on a plate. He nodded for Mickey to follow him, just ready for this to be done.

“Merry Christmas, Mickey.” She waved.

Mickey hadn’t expected her to address him directly, but he was also distracted. He grunted in her direction, watching as Ian practically sprinted ahead of him. He’d done it again. Shot something down and crushed it to death just by being himself. Whatever. He had a few words for the guy in red.

They walked down a long hallway, same red carpeting as before. There were other offices with elves inside them. They barely looked up. Mickey suddenly felt really stupid being there in his dirty socks. Kind of hard to act tough without shoes. He licked his lips and tried to get himself riled up again. Somehow his eyes found the office door with Ian’s name on it, though, and it became harder to muster his usual thug persona. They stopped outside a huge wooden door with a C carved into the center of it. The handle and knocker were shiny brass Mickey could see himself in. Ian knocked twice, looking back at Mickey for a second.

“Come in.”

Mickey swallowed. That voice felt the same as Ian’s but also very different. It made him feel stuck between content and anxious. Ian looked like he wanted to comfort him in some way, like he sensed that Mickey wasn’t as big and bad as he acted. Of course he fucking knew, but he did nothing but open the door and walk inside. Mickey stepped up beside him and looked around for the source. He was standing by a large window that didn’t look outside but instead looked out onto the same factory floor they had just been on. The hairs on the back of his neck stood a little at the thought of being watched. Then he was turning and looking right at them. Mickey’s heart sped up as their eyes locked, blue meeting blue. Another fire bathed him and the whole room in deep orange that bounced around the dark wood and created shadows in corners.

“Mickey,” he said. Santa Claus. It was jovial yet firm. He gave a little nod.

“Nicky,” Mickey said, “…or do you prefer just Saint?” He saw Ian’s shoulders drop out the corner of his eye. Good. He shouldn’t expect anything from Mickey. He didn’t need Ian thinking he’d changed him with magic and sex…really hot sex. He had to go all in now. It was the only way he’d be able to leave and not wonder about Ian having feelings for him.

Santa chuckled lightly. “Thank you, Ian. You can go for now. Come find me before I pull off tonight, I have something I wish to speak with you about.”

Heat rose in Ian’s face and his mouth popped open a little. He hadn’t expected that. What could Santa possibly want to talk about? Had he done something? He recovered quickly enough and nodded. “Yes, sir. Will do.” Before he turned to leave, he looked at Mickey one last time. He looked like he was fighting against himself. Probably deciding what insult to fling next, or maybe he really did feel bad after all. Either way, he had made his choice. He closed the door behind him.

Mickey thought he heard very faint bells as he watched the door close. Then it was just him and…Santa. They sized each other up.

“Have a seat, Mickey,” he gestured to an upholstered chair that looked comfortable as fuck.

“I’ll stand.”

“Milk and cookies?” He offered, reaching for a tray on a coffee table.

“I hate milk.”

“Hot cocoa then?”

Mickey sucked his teeth. “Can we get on with this? Fucking say what you need to say so I can get back to my family.”

Santa bowed his head, crossing his hands behind his back as he moved over to one of the two chairs. He took a cookie and nibbled it, never looking at Mickey as if to say two could play at this game.

“You weren’t in a hurry so much when you spent the night with my helper.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes at him, fighting the heat in his face. “Head assistant,” he corrected before he noticed the glint in his eye. It’d been a set up. Fuck. He had to smirk, though. “You really are a creepy motherfucker.” Ha. Eat shit, Santa.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Mickey sputtered, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “What?”

“Have you enjoyed your time here?” Santa repeated, knowing full well what he was doing and doing it with a calm smile.

“Could’ve fucking used it when it would’ve mattered.”

“You mean as a boy?”

“Probably wouldn’t have turned out the way I did.”

Santa’s face changes, his bushy white brows sinking over his eyes. He nods, considering Mickey’s words. “You’re right,” he begins, watching Mickey’s face for a reaction, then continues with, “…you would’ve turned out worse.”

“The fuck are you on about?” Mickey shifts his weight, wishing he wasn’t too stubborn to sit down.

“Children…they don’t need this experience. It’s better this way.”

“Oh, that’s what you decided, huh? Throw a few fucking gifts around and everything’s alright? You kill your guilt one night and year, but what about the rest? When those kids are hungry, scared, in the streets? You don’t think coming to a place like this wouldn’t make shit a little brighter? But no, you tried and failed, so now what? You’ve never existed to me, so what’s the fucking point?” Mickey’s breathing fast, fist clenched at his side and finger pointing accusingly. He doesn’t care about his language. The son of a bitch needs to hear this. It’s been bubbling up inside him ever since he got here, but it’s something he used to think about all the time. Kids all around him talking about this man who could make everything better. This was all he needed. He’d needed something to believe in and good ol’ Santa Claus had let him down. He became a little shit after the last straw, ruining the magic for everyone else and eventually himself two-fold.

Santa sighs, looking sad as he gets up and moves over to his giant mahogany desk. He sits down in an even bigger chair that’s more like a throne and pulls something out. An envelope that looks a little worn. He reads the folded up letter once he puts his glasses on. There’s a glint in his eye when he finishes.

Mickey is still in the same spot, but he’s turned his head watching the man. There’s a framed picture of who he assumes is Mrs. Claus. All along the walls are painted pictures all signed with a flourished _SC_. They’re crude, clearly self taught, but oddly endearing…humanizing. He eyes the plate of cookies, feeling empty, but Santa clears his throat and beckons him closer. Mickey goes.

Santa removes his glasses and holds the letter up. “I’m sorry, Mickey.”

Mickey frowns, confused until he recognizes the handwriting first before seeing his own name. And it hits him. He knows it’s his letter and he knows what it entails, the desperate pleadings of a seven year old as his mom is in the hospital. His chest hurts and his throat feels like it’s closing. He blinks because he thinks he might cry when Santa catches his eyes. He looks away when he can’t take it anymore.

“What you were asking of me, Mickey, it’s not something I can do. But even if I could, I would not because that would’ve confirmed your belief in me. It would have destroyed you,” Santa explains.

“How?” It’s the only thing Mickey can get out.

“This sort of thing,” he starts then seems to change his mind. He shuffles some papers around for something to do as he speaks. “Children are truly something special. When they believe something, they don’t even need to see it. You can tell in their eyes that they have big hearts and love fiercely. They are all this way. When something is real to a child, that kind of magic can…move mountains, as you all say,” he chuckles lightly.

“So you saying it’s my fault I didn’t…fucking wish hard enough?”

Santa shook his head, his beard following the movement. “No, no. No one’s fault. But when a kid loses that belief…their sense of reality…and self, it suffers.”

Mickey wasn’t understanding any of this, his head was starting to hurt. A part of him wanted to run and find Ian. “Then why not kids?”

Santa searched the room for words, looking slightly pained. “The magic here…all of this is designed to jump-start what is already there, if the person chooses to. We are successful for the most part, but it will not override free will. That’s why it works with the parents. It’s a figurative spark. But children…it’s too strong, they can’t resist it. It becomes a part of them and they believe forever. Can you imagine what that does to them in your world? How people would look at them?” He shakes his head. “No, we simply couldn’t do that anymore.”

Mickey nods. He thinks he’s starting to get it. It’s terrible, but he understands. He shudders to think about where those few cases are now. Then he thinks of Yevgeny, but can’t figure out what all this means for him. He sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“So what now? You tell me a big speech and I take it or leave it? Why go through all this? You couldn’t make a house call?”

Santa laughed. “I take it you didn’t enjoy the trip? Ian likes to take the expressway.”

“You mean there’s another way than that…cone of death?”

Santa chuckles again, as he reaches for another letter. “I want to show you something.” He opens it and clears his throat.

_“My daddy is the best daddy. He works at a radio station all the time because we need to get things I need because I have something called Aspergers Syndrome. It means I’m a little different. I have trouble making friends and getting along with Mommy and Daddy. I get upset sometimes and hurt myself, but mommy and daddy always make it better. I play the trumpet. It’s the greatest instrument. Mr. Shipley taught me how to play and I love it a lot. He gave me a part in my school’s Christmas pageant but daddy can’t see me because he has to work and he doesn’t like Christmas. He doesn’t like a lot of things and sometimes he gets really mad. Mommy says it’s because he doesn’t know love, but he loves me so how can that be true? Sometimes I don’t understand what people say but I think mommy meant that he doesn’t think love is real. For Christmas this year, I want my daddy to have someone to help him believe in love…”_

“Yevgeny,” Mickey says, his voice raw and shaky. He sniffs, blinks a few times then uses the palm of his hand. Santa nods, handing Mickey the letter. “He wrote this? But how did—“

“Mandy,” he answers simply, smiling fondly.

Mickey laughs a little. Figures his sister would have a hand in all of this. He’s grateful for her. They weren’t always close but all they had was each other. Part of him wonders if she’s seen the things he has, but something tells him he wouldn’t get a straight answer if he asked. He looks down at Yev’s words, skimming the handwriting they had worked on improving together. The words jump out at him. He reads love and his mind immediately goes to Ian, despite his efforts to stamp out those feelings. He bites his lip when he notices he’s being watched.

“You’ve done good with him, Mickey, but he knows more than you think. Words spoken in the dead of night are one thing, but he sees you and he understands.”

Mickey bows his head, looking at his dirty socks on the immaculate carpet. He looks up, expecting Santa to say more but he just sits there. Mickey swallows.

“Is…is that it?” He feels silly asking, feeling like he should know or feel different. If he had to guess, the lesson was stop being a prick but it would probably sounded better coming from Saint Nicholas himself.

Santa nods, “Yes.”

They sit quietly for another minute.

“So, what happens now?”

“You’re free to go,” Santa says, lifting his hand palm up towards the fireplace.

Mickey follows his gesture and his eyes go wide. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Santa chuckles and gets up, taking Mickey’s arm and pulling him over to the roaring flames. “It won’t hurt. You’ll hardly notice any feeling at all.” He snaps his finger and a bell is heard somewhere. A minute later, Ian walks in and Mickey loses his breath.

“Sir?” His eyes flicked to Mickey.

“Just sending Mickey off now,” he says, looking between them. Ian just nods. “Mickey? When you’re ready.”

Mickey finally gets it through his head that he’s seriously about to step into fire. He fleetingly longed for the blizzard of doom. He slowly steps into the fireplace and is relieved to not go up in flames. It just feels like warm air blowing gently. Santa is back at his desk shuffling papers and pretending he’s not a nosy meddling fucker.

“How do ya’ll know I won’t spill all your secrets?” Mickey sort of teases, just to say something because he can hardly bare the way Ian is looking at him.

Ian actually laughs a little, steps closer. “Not that anyone would believe you, but you won’t remember any of this.”

Mickey thinks he hears wrong, hopes he didn’t hear right. Maybe there are bells faintly ringing in his ears. “What? What do you…I,” he stammers. He can feel the warm air picking up into a steady wind. Mickey searches Ian’s face, panicking trying to commit it to memory for no other reason than to torture himself later. He tried to take in as much as he could while trying to think of something to say that would fix things in Ian’s eyes. Santa has vanished and the room is also quickly vanishing along with the elf standing inches from him. He reaches for him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him to him.

“Ian,” he breaths, the wind turning into a mile an hour gusts.

_Mickey_

He hears the voice, the bells getting further and further away but they’re there.

Mickey leans in, Ian moves to meet him halfway just as eager.

Their lips are centimeters apart, when everything disappears.

///////

_“You’re listening to, 97.2, your station for all things Christmas all day long today. We’ve got classic covers by some of rock’s most famous, and coming up ahead the Transiberian Orchestra and even more favorites on this beautiful Christmas morning. Traffic is light and our driveways were spared any more snow, so if you’ve got time after all the unwrapping is done come on out to P.S. 133 for the annual Christmas pageant. I’ll be there, shout out to my son Yevy, so it’s sure to be a good time. Beats staying at home with your relatives, right? Either way, I’m heading out soon but keep it locked here for more holiday cheer. If you forgot somebody on your list, Jessica will give you some chances to win those RHCP tickets. Also, we want to know what some of you got. Call or text 25235 with the most outrageous and disastrous things you’ve opened today. Up next we’ve got some Elvis for you, so snuggle up close to whoever you’re with, and from all of us here at 97.2, wishing you…a merry Christmas. I’m Mickey, next voice you hear will be Jessica.”_

Mickey sprang out of his seat, almost ripping his headphones off. He checked the time.

“Shit,” he muttered, quickly switching his board to the correct settings for the next host. He was gathering his stuff when the producer caught.

“Great show, Mickey! Almost didn’t think it was you!” He chuckled then squinted at Mickey. “You feeling okay?”

Mickey raised his eyebrow, thinking that was a stupid fucking question, but he had to admit he’d woken up that morning a felt differently about not just the holidays, but his life. He hadn’t been hung over at all despite finding the half empty bottle of rum by his bed. He felt rested and fine, cheery even. There was a tiny hint of sadness, so he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about but couldn’t. He couldn’t shake this feeling in him but he chocked it up to it being Christmas. It always made people weird, right? That was a thing right? Anyway, it had made him get up and get dressed then head out to the living room on a mission. He spent an hour getting the tree erected and decorated, then took all the presents from the hiding places Svetlana did and didn’t know of. Once everything was assembled, he made pancakes using the leftover eggnog and even threw in red and green sprinkles. A few times he caught himself humming the very music he couldn’t stand, so he put together a playlist in his head as he drove to work. He stopped at the convenience store and donated on the cost of the hot cocoa he had an odd craving for, getting a look from the clerk who had told him off last night. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. By the time he got to work, he marched right in and said he wasn’t going to miss his son perform for anything. So here he was now, cutting his show short and trying to make it there on time.

“I’m fine. Why?” He asked, still in a hurry but not wanting to blow the guy off if he was in fact going to be retroactively punished for skipping out. It was Christmas after all, but still.

His producer kind of smiled, crossing his arms and looking like he didn’t believe him. “You just…seem different, is all. You good?” Mickey nodded. “Sure?”

Mickey shrugged. “Guess the holiday spirit got to my tiny Grinch heart.” A beat passes before he laughs, still looking skeptical. Mickey thumbed towards the exit. “Just want to see my kid play, man.”

The producer stares at him for another ten seconds then nods. “Right, sure, sure…yeah, okay, Mickey. Well, merry Christmas.”

“Same to you and yours,” Mickey barely gets out before he’s dashing away to his car. The way people were treating him, you’d think he was a monster or something, but maybe he had been…before. Now, he felt like something had changed in him overnight, he just didn’t know why or how. He couldn’t explain it, but it was a feeling…a strong one. The only thing he could do was roll with it because whatever it was made him want to…change his ways, he guessed.

Just as he’d reported, there weren’t many cars on the road. He was still running late, though, the pageant having started twenty minutes ago. He pulled up to the school and found a spot near the back of the small parking lot. He ran the whole way, not wanting to miss any more than he had to. He yanked the door open and stomped inside, slipping slightly in his haste. He’d been here many times through Yevgeny’s schooling, sometimes for good reasons and sometimes for bad, but right now he needed to get to the gym and see his son. His feet led him there in record time and his heart skipped in his chest when he heard the band already playing and the chorus singing. He slipped inside, trying to keep the door from slamming behind him, then scanned both the crowd and the stage for familiar faces. He was so irrationally afraid he’d gotten the wrong school and day for a second that he almost didn’t hear his name being called.

“Mickey! Mickey, over here!” Mandy whisper-shouted, glaring at anyone who told her to shush or sit down. She was standing near the front row waving and gesturing in the direction of where Yev was sitting.

Mickey made his way, clumsily moving to where he now saw his sister and Svetlana sitting together. The blonde elf from the mall was seated beside Mandy giving people the finger. He liked her more than any of Mandy’s boyfriends already and he didn’t even know her. His eyes kept looking to the stage until his boy came into view. It was a period where there was just singing and no instruments apparently. He didn’t at all feel bad about cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and calling to get his attention. The odds of him actively seeking or even acknowledging the audience were against him, but he immediately looked to where his daddy’s voice was. Mickey beamed as Yev got the biggest smile on his face. He didn’t wave, just smiled then turned back to his empty music stand. He never needed sheet music. Mickey wanted to stand there the whole time, but eventually Svetlana pulled him into a chair next to her. Her smile was more surprised smugness. Mickey nodded at her and she patted his knee so he knew they were okay. The program continued on with kids singing or playing or doing both. The nativity skit had been cut due to some liberal atheist granola parents, so it was being replaced by a final big holiday medley.

Both Svetlana and Mandy had their phones up recording even before a single note. Mickey quietly teased them, but was tempted to get a third angle the exact same as there’s. He couldn’t stop smiling, though. He was a little anxious, but knew that Yev could probably play trumpet in his sleep if he ever stayed asleep. He watched with rapt attention as they began. He didn’t take his eyes off of Yevgeny as he played his parts, leading the two other trumpets. Mickey’s foot tapped along to the music, which got him teased a little but he didn’t care. He was having an amazing time. He almost wanted to feel guilty for all the times he had missed these opportunities, but today was supposed to be a good day. He was done beating himself up and holding himself back from feeling good…happy even.

Finally, the other instruments seemed to come to a quieter background section of music and Yevgeny’s trumpet sounded over it filling the gym with sharp crisp notes that range out and caused chills. It was fucking awesome and Yev looked awesome and when he had finished cheers and clapping almost drowned out the rest of the band joint in again. It wasn’t long until the end of the piece rose in a crescendo that ended on a final note from a lone trumpet. Mickey doesn’t think he’s ever stood so fast in his life. He was up out of his sit before anyone, he was so proud. The entire gym followed his lead, giving all the kids a standing ovation. Svetlana was a mess beside him, so he hugged her to his side. Mandy whistled and yelled the loudest. He could see Yev getting a bit uneasy, crossing and uncrossing his fingers and looking around. As much as the performance deserved the praise, his parental instincts kicked in and he was through the row and up on the stage in no time, picking Yev up and taking him out a side door into the hallway.

“Hey, buddy. Hey, Yevy, it’s alright. You did so good, huh? That was fucking awesome, man,” Mickey rambled to get the kid focused on him and the absence of the distressing noise. Mickey kissed his cheeks, rubbing his back until he looked calmer. “You did amazing, Yev. Daddy’s proud of you…so proud.”

“I played,” the boy said.

“Mhm, you did,” Mickey kissed him again.

“Mommy?” He looked up at Mickey with a face that said what he was worried about.

“She’s coming, buddy.” The more calm the boy became the more his speech would open up. Short phrases were easier for him after a potential episode, but he seemed to be coming out of it quickly.

“Can we have cookies now? Mr. Shipley bought cookies for everyone because we did so well in class all year.”

Mickey laughed, knowing Yevgeny was going to be fine. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” He takes Yevgeny’s hand and lets him lead him to the lobby which is slowly being filled with people. Yev is focused so he’s okay, but Mickey keeps an eye on him regardless.

They get their cheap cookies and little cups of juice, then the Milkoviches stood off to the side gushing over Yev and the pageant. Mandy is playing the video for a fourth time and is absolutely giddy when her nephew finally gives her a smile. Mickey skipped lunch, so he heads back for seconds hoping no one notices or cares enough to say anything. He’s got a mouthful of cookie when he’s tapped on the shoulder.

“Mickey…from the radio, right?” A man asks.

Mickey nods, swallows. He’s recognized out in public sometimes, but many more people only know him when they hear his voice; one of the perks of being semi-famous. He can still live his in relative obscurity.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you stealing cookies,” he laughs a little nervously. “I, uhh, listen to the show. Actually saved my life. Was driving to…well, let’s just say I was in a bad place then I heard this voice…you. You were just talking…ranting actually. Anyway, I heard you mention the pageant today and—“

“Thought you'd get some tickets from me?” Mickey half-jokes to ease the somewhat awkward situation. Thankfully the guy laughs, blushing a little but gaining some confidence.

“I just wanted to thank you.” He waves it off like it’s no big deal, ducking his head like he’s a little ashamed to have a story like that.

“Hey, no problem, man. Usually people say my voice has the opposite effect.” The man laughs again and Mickey finds himself laughing to.

“Is that your kid? The one that did the trumpet solo?”

Mickey grins wide, looking over to his son. “Yeah, that’s my Yevy.”

“He okay? Saw you take him out…”

Mickey nods, realizing it probably looked weird to everyone else, although no one tried to stop him. If he’d been some kidnapper, he would be halfway to Mexico by now. “He’s alright. He’s…got AS, so the noise and stuff.” He doesn’t know why he has to explain all of this to a stranger, but the guy looks like he might really care.

“Well, you saved the day,” the guy smiles.

Mickey smiles too. “Haven’t been lately. I’m trying to be better.” Again, he’s not sure why he trusts this guy with all this, but it feels right.

“He knows. They know more than we think.”

Mickey stares at him for a moment. He can tell he means it. It’s comforting. He hears bells somewhere in the crowd.

“Sorry, what’s your name? Maybe I can have you on the show sometime,” he blurts it out but he feels calm and content.

The bells are somewhere closer now.

“Ian.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Come visit me at tumblr :)


End file.
